Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
C oming downstairs for breakfast feels like taking a first step onto a battlefield.
All night I pondered over what I heard, playing and replaying the sound inside my head.
My worst fears insist Taylor was standing outside the door, laughing as I moaned his name. They say he’ll mock me over breakfast, remind me that I’m the last person he’d ever want to touch.
Logic tells me he was likely in his room, door closed, an entire floor away. He wouldn’t have come upstairs…the creaking I heard was the house settling for the night.
I would genuinely give away my firstborn to have logic emerge the winner. I’d throw away everything in my bank account, would burn the pages of my unfinished manuscript—
Well, okay, maybe I wouldn’t go that far.
My legs are wobbly as I march into the kitchen, praying Taylor hasn’t woken up yet.
So it’s only natural he’s already seated at the dining table, an actual physical newspaper in hand, facing the very hallway I’m emerging from. He looks up over a piece of toast, and I hold my breath. For what feels like an eternity, he merely gazes at me. I look between his eyes, searching for a sign he knows what I was doing in the shower last night. But he merely blinks, then gestures at his piece of toast.
“Help yourself. There’s sourdough in the cabinet.”
I breathe an audible sigh of relief. Every tendon in my body relaxes as Taylor turns back to his paper. He didn’t hear me. The fact has me skipping around the kitchen table, positively giddy as I grab a box of sugary cereal.
“How’d you sleep?” I ask through a mouthful, forgetting engaging in friendly small talk isn’t something we do. I try to tug down the hem of my tank top before Taylor responds, all too aware that it leaves a wide swath of skin visible above my linen pants. Even so, it was the most modest article of clothing I packed.
But Taylor looks over his shoulder, shrugging at me. His gaze never dips lower than my face. “Fine. You?”
“Did you know the Havens’ mattresses cost 10k each? I slept like a baby.”
Taylor lifts his brows and I take another huge bite, using the back of my hand to wipe the leftover milk away. So what if I’m lying? I can’t tell him I spent the night tossing and turning, worrying he heard how loud I came while imagining he was finger fucking me. But a flush still darkens my cheeks. Taylor’s eyes narrow at the sight before I turn away, pouring a glass of orange juice to hide my embarrassment.
“I called someone to fix the garage door. They should be here in an hour.”
I whip around, wide eyes taking in Taylor’s neutral expression. “You did?”
He takes his time refolding his paper. “Yeah. I figured it was better calling sooner than later. I wasn’t sure what time you’d be up.”
“Thank you,” I hear myself whisper. “I appreciate it.”
Something in my voice causes his eyes to flicker to mine. I wonder if he can read the shock on my face.
He must, because he quickly turns back to his breakfast. “Owed you for dinner last night,” he says gruffly.
I let the subject drop, sending one last grateful smile in his direction before I head into the office. When Taylor pads in a couple minutes later, he nods his head in greeting. Aanndd I promptly feel like a loser because the simple gesture quickens my pulse. It’s a sign we can be cordial. All it took was a measly pot of spaghetti to do the trick.
I spend the morning brainstorming other simple meals I can cook this week. Not purely for Taylor’s sake, of course. A girl’s gotta eat, too. But, hey, if working together in the kitchen means we’ll be able to tolerate each other’s presence outside of it, I might as well keep it up.
“I think the repairman will be here soon,” Taylor says, voice pulling me from my thoughts.
I hop up from my seat. “Thanks! I’ll meet him outside.”
Taylor pauses, halfway to his feet. “Are you sure?”
I wave him away. “Yeah. You’re in the middle of Victor’s expense report, right? I’ve got this.”
Taylor crooks his half-smile, letting me go. I’m poised in front of the Havens’ garage door when a white truck comes rolling through their open gate. I wave a hand, calling the repairman over.
“What can I help you with… Ayla? ”
My eyes narrow at the recognition in his voice. Under a baseball cap, a kind face grins down at me. The man looks around my age, a nametag clipped to his shirt identifying him as Chris.
“Yes? That’s me.”
“Hey! From Valley Glen High, right? It’s been ages. How are you?”
I blink twice, trying and failing to place him. I didn’t talk a lot in high school. Save for a certain basketball captain, boys mostly escaped my notice. And I thought the same would be said about me.
“Hey,” I try, forcing a smile onto my face. “Chris! Yeah, what a small world. I’ve been good. Just…dealing with this garage door problem.” I gesture behind me, trying to pull the conversation back on track. I don’t want to be rude, but small talk has never been my forte. And as nice as Chris seems, I have absolutely no idea who he is.
He grins, following my gaze. “Nice! Glad to hear it. What’s the problem?”
I rub the back of my neck. “It just kind of stopped working. I don’t think I can force it up, either.”
Chris nods, kneeling to take a look at an inscription identifying the garage door make and model. “Yeah, I’ve worked on these guys before. Pretty finicky. Can you take me inside? I should be able to sort it out.”
I let out a breath of relief. “Okay, that would be great, thank you.”
I lead him through the front door, noticing the wide-eyed gaze he sweeps across the Havens’ grand foyer.
“I’m just house-sitting,” I feel compelled to say. “My bosses are out of town.”
“No kidding? Must be some bosses.” Chris lets out a low whistle and I flash him another stiff smile.
I never know what to say when I’m asked about my job. The Havens are private enough that I feel uncomfortable mentioning who exactly my employers are. I usually explain I’m a personal assistant to an eccentric couple “in the arts”.
Luckily, Chris doesn’t ask any follow-up questions as I usher him through the house.
“It’s crazy to run into you,” Chris is saying as we pass the office door. I get a flash of Taylor’s side profile as we move by. “Haven’t seen anyone from the paper in ages.”
My eyes widen as the image of a floppy-haired photographer comes into focus. That’s right. Chris was in the journalism department with me, a camera often hanging from his neck. We didn’t talk much, but I remember him accompanying me to a story on a couple of occasions. He was one of the kids who’d sit by while I distributed stack after stack of newspapers all on my own. My impression of him is slightly soured by the time we reach the interior door to the Havens’ garage.
“It’s just down here.” I follow him down the staircase, gesturing at the electronic box I assume controls the door. “Do you know what’s wrong with it?”
He flips the switch a couple times, nodding his head when the door groans. “Sure. I think it’s a pretty simple wiring issue. I’ll get you sorted out.”
I shift on my feet as Chris gets to work, unsure whether I should leave or stay nearby to monitor the situation. Something tells me the Havens wouldn’t appreciate me leaving a stranger alone in their house, so I end up leaning against my car, awkwardly watching him work.
“So, what’ve you been up to all these years?” he calls over his shoulder. “Still writing?”
I flash a half-smile. “A little bit. What about you? Still taking pictures?”
Chris snaps the electrical box shut. He tries the switch, beaming when the garage door begins to open. I let out a whoop as he wipes his hands on his jeans.
“Nah, kind of grew out of it. I’ve been focused on starting my own business. Which worked out, considering it got me here.”
My smile grows stiff around the edges as Chris stands up, taking a few steps toward me. He’s wearing a smile I’m sure he thinks is charming, his hands propped on his hips. His eyes keep dipping down to my bare waist, and I find myself wishing I’d thrown on my dirty sweatshirt after all.
“Would you want to catch up sometime? I know a great bar in this neighborhood.”
“Oh!” I let out a strained laugh. I look around the room, searching for the right thing to say. I have next to zero interest in meeting with Chris outside of working hours. Especially if he might interpret it as anything in the same realm as a date. I lick my lips, trying to figure out how to let him down easy. “So, I, uh…”
“How’s it going, babe?” A heavy arm drapes over my shoulders as I’m pulled against a warm chest.
I look up in surprise, blanching when Taylor smiles down at me. His hand drops to my hip, giving me the opportunity to step out of his embrace. A flicker of something passes through his gaze I interpret as understanding. Taylor’s offering to help me. Just like I inadvertently helped him at the grocery store.
And because I’m no saint, I accept his offer. I reach up, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. His eyes crinkle at the gesture, and I let out an internal breath. Who knew Hedlund could act? When I lean my head against his shoulder, I have to stop myself from turning around again and sinking both hands into his hair. I’m not sure who it would shock more if I let my fingers have their way.
“We’re done,” I say, smiling. “Taylor, this is Chris. Turns out we actually went to high school together. He solved our little problem super quick.”
Taylor shifts so he can offer his hand for the other man to shake. The left one, I realize. So that he doesn’t have to let go of my waist.
I can see Chris’s throat bob as he swallows, eyes traveling up Taylor’s tall frame. “Nice to meet you, man,” he says with a little less bravado.
“Thanks for helping out my girl.” Taylor offers his patent half-smile, making sure Chris sees the hand that’s one wrong move away from cupping my ass.
I bat my eyelashes, playfully nudging his shoulder so he doesn’t guess my heart is racing. Taylor directs a few questions at Chris, but I don’t hear a single one. All of my attention is on the thumb Taylor’s gently rolling along my hip. He’s been careful to avoid touching my bare skin, but that’s doing nothing to slow my hastening pulse. My stomach is liquifying, warmth pooling between my thighs. I keep trying to swallow, to get my wits about me, but my throat has gone bone-dry.
I’m barely cognizant of moving back up the stairs, only that Taylor is trailing close behind me. His hand returns to my waist as we wave Chris out of the Havens’ front door. I don’t realize I’m leaning into his touch, that my back is resting firmly against his chest, until Chris pulls out of the driveway and Taylor takes a step away.
I stay still, blinking at the door until the haze can clear from my head. Much to my chagrin, a shiver rolls through me when I finally turn back to Taylor. His eyes track the movement, momentarily blowing wide before narrowing on my grateful smile.
“Thank you for stepping in back there. That was perfect timing. I don’t know what I would’ve said if you hadn’t shown up.”
Taylor’s watching me with an inscrutable expression. His posture is relaxed, but there’s no missing the tightness in his jaw. When he speaks, it’s without inflection of any kind. “I owed you, didn’t I? From last night.”
Though he says the words plainly, they still spear me like ice. So that really was it, then. Not an act of kindness, but retribution. I shake my head, stopping the flicker of disappointment before it can catch fire. What was I expecting? I had one fantasy about the guy—that doesn’t mean it’s going to come true. No, I don’t want it to come true.
“Well, consider your debt more than paid,” I say, coolly. And to prove how unaffected I really am, I add, “I’m going to drive over to the deli and grab a sandwich for lunch. Want anything?”
Taylor’s refusal doesn’t come as a surprise. Neither is the fact that he turns, leaving me without another word. I watch him go, his right hand flexing by his side, until his form disappears from view.
I turn on my heel, telling myself it’s best that I take a page out of his book. Taylor and I are never going to be friends.
Hoping for anything else will only end in disappointment.